


curl me by your name

by Deisderium



Series: tits out, lads [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bucky With The Good Hair, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Improper Use of Gym Equipment, M/M, You Did What to that Weight Bench, curls, dumbasses in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 08:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: Bucky sighs and pulls the hat off reluctantly to reveal hair that is practically buoyant, swooping up dramatically from his forehead, fluffy and poofy with sweat."I know it's vain." Bucky says.The thing is, when Bucky's hair was long, the weight of it pulled it mostly-straight, but now that it's shorter, it has natural curl. Steve loves it slicked down with product, and he loves running his fingers through it when Bucky lets it curl. He has seen it sleep-rumpled, askew after sex, flattened on one side when Bucky took an accidental nap against the arm of the couch; he's never seen it quite like this.He wants to dig his hands into it and mess it up.*In which Steve and Bucky go to the gym and Steve messes up Bucky's hair.





	curl me by your name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crinklefries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crinklefries/gifts).



Bucky has cut his hair.

Steve likes it—of course Steve likes it; he likes everything about Bucky—but he thinks Bucky is self-conscious or something.

Not usually; usually he gels his hair and wears something that Steve would never be able to pull off, like floral shirts (sometimes _sheer_ floral shirts when he wants to test Steve's resolve to not make out in public) or skinny jeans or bomber jackets or all of the above. But they're at the gym, so he's got on running shorts and a dark t-shirt that stretches across his broad chest, worn and soft enough that Steve can see his muscles bunch as he does chest presses, his mouth pulled into a grimace of concentration, a baseball cap pulled backward over his hair.

Steve didn't even know Bucky would willingly wear a baseball cap when he wasn't trying to disguise himself. He'd never seen it happen before. But now, when they go to the gym, Bucky's always got the hat on.

Steve finishes his set on the lateral pull down and just watches Bucky get through his chest reps. He's absently wondering about the cap, but more focused on the way his pecs tense and relax as he moves the barbells, and the way his nipples always stand up regardless of how hot or cold the air conditioning is.

Bucky finishes his set and sits up, catches Steve staring at him like an idiot. "What?" he says.

"Why do you wear a hat to the gym?" Steve blurts out, just so he won't say something dumbass like "Why are your nipples always so perky?" out loud _again_ for the third time at least.

But whereas Bucky would have laughed at him about the latter, he actually visibly blushes at the former, sweaty and red-faced. Steve is _delighted_. Bucky sighs and pulls the hat off reluctantly to reveal hair that is practically buoyant, swooping up dramatically from his forehead, fluffy and poofy with sweat.

"I know it's vain." Bucky says.

The thing is, when Bucky's hair was long, the weight of it pulled it mostly-straight, but now that it's shorter, it has natural curl. Steve loves it slicked down with product, and he loves running his fingers through it when Bucky lets it curl. He has seen it sleep-rumpled, askew after sex, flattened on one side when Bucky took an accidental nap against the arm of the couch; he's never seen it quite like this.

He wants to dig his hands into it and mess it up.

It's clipped shorter along the sides and back, but Bucky left it longish on top. The hairs right next to his temple are damp with sweat, curling up into near-ringlets. Steve is off the lat machine and across the room before he even decides to go, running a hand up Bucky's cheek and so he can curl that lock of hair and that lock of hair only around his pointer finger.

"I like it," he says, and he knows his voice is low, and he knows that Bucky likes it that way.

"It looks dumb," Bucky says in a voice that's not a whine, but whine-adjacent.

"Hmmm, no." Steve runs both his hands into Bucky's hair and tugs until Bucky's head tips back and Bucky moans, deep in his throat. _Interesting_. "It looks good, Buck. Sexy. Besides, I bet I can get it way more messed up than this."

Bucky grabs Steve's hips and pulls him forward, leaning forward until he can kiss along Steve's neck. "It wasn't meant to be a challenge. I don't want you to make it look dumber." 

Steve hums into the hinge of Bucky's very square jaw. "It looks good," he says again, and runs his fingers through it. Bucky makes a sound, a sigh that's just breathy enough to almost be a moan. It's a good sound. Steve wants to hear him make it again.

Another thing about Bucky's hair is that he loves to have it played with. Steve had been a little sad when he cut it because Bucky had let him braid it sometimes, or brush it for him, but really, now that he thinks about it, he's been wasting opportunities. He could still brush it for him even if Bucky wouldn't trust him to put the right product in.

Steve pulls on Bucky's hair, tugging just a little, and Bucky makes the sound again. _Yes_ , Steve thinks, _good_.

The thing about this gym, in particular, is that Steve has gotten to know the owners and pays extra so he and Bucky can come at night sometimes. A bonus of being Captain America is that Steve seems pretty trustworthy to most people, so when Steve explained that he and his friend wanted to work out after hours with no one else around and that he'd be happy to pay for the privilege, they had handed over an extra key and given him the alarm code. Steve has never abused it, never brought anyone with him but Bucky, and it means that they are very much by themselves in the gym right now. It’s darker than it is during the day, only one set of lights turned on and streetlamps spilling in orange light through the windows.

Steve tightens his grip in Bucky's hair and tilts his neck up so he can kiss a line down his throat, stopping only to suck a mark into his clavicle. He frees one hand from Bucky's hair and runs it over his chest, down his side until he finds the hem and slides his fingers over the skin at Bucky's hip.

"Are we really gonna do this?" Bucky asks, his voice breathy.

"No one's here but us," Steve says, and pulls at Bucky's hair again. "We can go if you want to, but..."

"No," Bucky says, "we can stay here." 

He tips his head back, his throat a long line from the dimple of his chin to the notch of his collarbones. Steve leaves one hand bunched in Bucky's hair and presses his thumb against the bruise he just sucked into Bucky's skin. Bucky stares at him, pupils dilating, and right then and there Steve decides that it's not just his hair that's going to get completely wrecked.

He tugs at the strands he still has a grip on just hard enough to remind him that he's not going anywhere and surveys the gym. The only security cameras are outside the exits, and the floor-to-ceiling windows bracket a long, uninterrupted stretch of wall that's got floor-to-ceiling mirror.

"Straps," Steve decides out loud.

Bucky's eyebrows try to go as high as his hair, but to be honest, they don't stand a chance. "Straps," he repeats, a faint question in the rise of his intonation.

"The TRX straps," Steve says, and jerks his chin toward the yellow-and-black nylon straps hanging from the ceiling in intervals opposite the mirrored wall. He knows they're sturdy enough to hold Bucky's weight because they have in the past; both of them have done enough bodyweight rows and plank pikes to prove the point.

"What do you want me to do with 'em?" Bucky says, assessing the straps.

"Nothing much," Steve says, as innocently as he can. He grabs Bucky's hand and drags him across the gym to the straps, and then shortens the straps as far as they go, just over head height. He guides Bucky's hands to them and wraps his fingers around the handles. Bucky's biceps stretch the hems of his sleeves, and the dark navy of his shirt is even darker in the shadow between his pecs. "All I want you to do is hold still. Can you do that for me?"

Bucky takes in a deep breath, and Steve watches everything it does to him, the swell of his chest taking in air, the way his thighs muscles tense as he realizes he'll have to brace himself, how the tendons in his neck show for a second as he gets a comfortable grip and rolls his shoulders back.

"I'll try," he says, and his eyes dart to Steve's for a second, and Steve can see that he means it. It hits him in the part of himself that is always so very ready to be hit by Bucky wanting him; by Bucky trusting him enough to do what Steve wants, or trusting enough to tell him what he wants.

Steve leans in and kisses him, not playing for a moment, just long enough to imprint the feel of his mouth, of his tongue, on Bucky's. If he could breathe the love he feels for him into his lungs, he'd do it, never mind what it did to his own oxygen. He imagines his lungs as a bellows, slowly pumping his emotions from his body to Bucky's, and he ends up kissing him for longer than he means to, threading his fingers through Bucky's hair.

Finally, he remembers that he is meant to be making Bucky unable to stay still and pulls back. Bucky tries to chase after him, and Steve drops one more quick kiss on his mouth. "Don't move," he whispers, and tugs on his hair one last time before letting his hands slide lower, over his shoulders.

Bucky's not really trying to flex, but the angle of his arms is doing it for him, the smooth lines of his biceps turned to a steeper curve, one metal, one flesh. Steve leans forward and sucks on the tender skin of Bucky's inner arm, hard enough to leave a bruise, then slides his hands over Bucky's torso. Bucky watches him, eyes half-lidded and dark with want.

Steve would say he's not trying to tease, but that would absolutely be a lie. Bucky's going to try to stay still, and Steve's going to try to make him move; so Steve slows down, takes his time mapping out Bucky's chest. He starts out over Bucky's shirt. The fabric is worn and soft with hundreds of washes and it smells of their detergent and Bucky's sweat. He smooths it over his chest, running his hands lightly over the muscles, and leans down to put his mouth on Bucky's nipple.

Bucky's nipples are already hard and the thin cotton doesn't do much to muffle the sensation as Steve scrapes gently with his teeth, then rolls the stiffened nub between his lips, stroking Bucky's other nipple with his thumb.

"Steve," Bucky says, almost but not quite a plea, and his hips roll forward just a little.

"No moving," Steve says against his shirt, and Bucky groans out something that sounds a lot like _fuck_ , but his hips go still. Steve slides a hand under Bucky's shirt. His skin is warm and slightly sweaty. Steve feels for the ridge of his hip, digs his fingers in, then slides Bucky's shirt up so he can get his mouth on him without the fabric in the way. 

He licks and sucks at Bucky's nipple for a while, because Bucky likes to laugh at how sensitive Steve is there, but the fact of the matter is that he loves it too, and Steve loves the way he throws his head back, gasping and saying things like, "Oh god, Steve," and "fucking _fuck_ ," and "feels good," because Steve said he couldn't move, not that he couldn't be loud.

Then Steve works his way down Bucky's torso, kissing the planes of his abdomen, tracing the lines of the lean muscle. He drops down to his knees and Bucky swears in a different tone. Steve smiles into his hip, because now that he's not standing in front of Bucky anymore, there's that mirrored wall across from them, and Bucky can't do anything but watch as he tries to stay still. 

Steve grabs Bucky's hips and he's not really flexing either, but he knows he has a lot of muscles in his back—so sue him, he checked himself out after the serum changed him—and his shirt is tight, so Bucky will be able to see every shift as he moves. He tugs Bucky's shorts down, slowly, teasing, and has to swallow once he gets Bucky's dick free.

Bucky's already hard, and Steve traces a line up the underside of Bucky's cock just to watch him twitch under the lightest of touches. Some part of him will never stop feeling smug and a little disbelieving that he does this to Bucky, that Bucky wants as much as he is wanted.

"Don't move," Steve whispers against Bucky's dick, and Bucky goes completely still, but he says, "I don't see how this is going to do anything to my hair."

"No," Steve says. "This is just for my own entertainment." Then he licks up the line he just traced with his finger and Bucky mutters something in unintelligible Russian, and Steve would smile, only now his mouth is full.

He licks and sucks, taking his time. Steve looks up through his eyelashes. Bucky has tightened his grip on the handles, and his arms are rigid with the effort of not moving. Steve is moving slower than he knows Bucky would probably like, taking him a little deeper into his throat with every stroke, his left hand braced against Bucky's hip, right hand curled around the base of his cock.

"Steve," Bucky says, pleading, and Steve speeds up just a fraction, and then more, until Bucky is talking all kinds of nonsense in between panting breaths, and his hips are tilting forward. His abdominal muscles bunch, and his cock pulses against Steve's tongue, and then he's coming, rocking up onto the balls of his feet, thigh muscles tight and straining. Steve waits until he's done, then pulls back and grins up at him. He's so hard he aches with it; Bucky is beautiful, undone and open with it. 

"Fuck," Bucky says, still catching his breath. "I moved there at the end." He reaches down and pulls Steve up. 

Steve kisses him, the ache in his knees fading as he stands. "I'll let it slide just this once since I was so distracting."

"I'll distract _you_ ," Bucky says, and reaches down to grab his dick through his running shorts. Steve sucks in a startled breath that's half a laugh and leans against Bucky as he strokes him.

"Ugh, I'm not done with you," Steve says, but his voice is breathless and unconvincing.

Bucky kisses a line down Steve's neck; as a distraction, in combination with his hand on Steve's dick, it's a rousing success.

"Weight bench," Steve manages to croak out anyway, but then it takes them a minute to get there, because Bucky's biting and licking at his chest and Steve is only human.

Finally though, they make it to the weight bench and Steve considers his options. 

"Wait here," Steve says, and Bucky leans against the wall next to the weight bench lazily, kind of like someone might who'd just gotten his dick sucked. He's not done yet, though, and Steve blesses the serum, because Bucky'll be ready to go again by the time he gets back.

There is, Steve knows, lube in the gym bag, because hope springs eternal and he likes to be prepared. By the time he gets back, Bucky is sprawled over the bench looking like he just finished a set of something, but a lot more boneless than usual. Steve grabbed some towels from the stack by the locker room along with the lube, because he's not an actual monster and he's not going to get any bodily fluids on the gym equipment.

"Get up," he tells Bucky, and Bucky does, taking in the towels and then helping Steve spread them on and around the bench.

"Is this overkill?" Bucky says, looking at the perhaps excessive amount of terrycloth bedecking the bench. "What exactly are you planning on doing to me?"

Steve grabs his wrist and tugs him closer to he can kiss him again, then presses his lips to the soft skin below Bucky's ear and nibbles his way down the tendon in Bucky's neck. He slides his hand up into Bucky's hair and tugs it again to hear him gasp. "Not sure," he murmurs, "but you know I like to plan for any contingencies."

"How do you want me?" Bucky says, and Steve rocks up against him, and yeah, he's hard again, and so is Steve, aching with wanting him, ready to take him apart again, pressing the both of them together. They both gasp. "Over the weight bench," Steve says, and Bucky goes to lean his broad chest against it, bracing with his arms.

He pulled his shorts back up, which was— _ha_ —shortsighted of him, so Steve pulls them back down again to rest in the crook of his knees. He traces his hands up Bucky's thighs, over the taut muscle, the skin that shivers a little under his touch. He drops a kiss at the base of Bucky's spine, then leans back and gets to his task. 

Steve gets the lube open, slicks up a finger and presses against Bucky's hole, gentle, teasing more than stroking so far. It doesn't take too long for him to open up because the fact of the matter is they fuck kind of a lot, but Steve takes his time because he can, and because it makes Bucky a little crazy. His shoulder muscles tighten up under the material of his shirt, and his back bows as he tries to push back against Steve's fingers.

Steve would laugh, except it makes him a little crazy too, how much Bucky wants this, how responsive he is to Steve's touch. Steve finds his prostate and Bucky gasps out a string of _ahs_ , and then Steve decides he's tired of teasing. 

He pulls his fingers out slowly and Bucky moans, looking back over his shoulder at him, his eyes dark, his hair a tousled mess. It's the sexiest thing Steve's ever seen, besides all the other times Bucky's looked at him like this. He pulls his own shorts down and slicks up his dick, then wipes his hand dry on one of the pile of towels. Steve grabs Bucky's hips, lines himself, up, and slides in slow.

Both of them inhale, a long breath in tandem. Bucky is hot and slick and tight around him, and he feels good, alive; the two of them fit together like puzzle pieces. Steve stays still for a long moment, just feeling Bucky around him, and then he starts to move. 

He gets a rhythm going, angles himself so that he's hitting Bucky's prostate. He waits until they're both panting, both a little frantic, and then he changes the angle so he can reach up and tangle a hand in Bucky's hair. It makes his thrusts a little shallower, but he pulls until Bucky has to tilt his head back, and Steve wishes he could reach to kiss his neck, his mouth, but he can't, so he kisses along his shoulder blades and his spine instead. He grasps and tugs at Bucky's hair as he moves inside of him, fucking it up as they fuck. 

"Christ, you're an asshole," Bucky gasps out, and Steve lets go of his hair so he can brace himself on the bench and reach around to get a hand on Bucky's dick. When he gets a hand on it, it's already wet with precome, and Bucky's breath stutters as Steve wraps his fingers around him. Steve strokes Bucky's cock in time with driving into him, and the weight bench scoots forward a little. Bucky makes a shorting-out kind of noise, and Steve would smile but he’s shorting out himself.

Bucky's back tenses beneath Steve, and he says Steve's name a little helplessly, so Steve speeds up his hand and says, "Come on, Buck, come for me," and Bucky does. His muscles clench around Steve, and then Steve is chasing after him, coming hard and for longer than he expected, collapsing along Bucky's back until both of them are barely anything more than sweaty skin and heaving breaths. He pulls out of Bucky slowly, carefully, and then falls back on the pile of towels, pulling Bucky down on top of him.

"Hey," Steve says, like a dumbass, but Bucky just smiles at him, the corners of his eyes creasing with his smile, and it's not like it's the first time Steve's said something stupid after sex.

"Hey yourself," Bucky says, and leans down to kiss Steve's mouth, sucking on his bottom lip in a way that might lead to another round if they're not careful. "I can't believe we fucked at the gym."

"I can't believe it took us this long," Steve counters, and Bucky shrugs as if to say _fair_.

Steve kisses Bucky one more time, then untangles himself, wipes himself off and pulls his clothes back into place, then picks up all the towels and dumps them into the washing machine. He wipes down the bench too, for good measure, and slides it back into place.

When he straightens up, Bucky's got his own clothes back on, and is frowning at his own reflection. To be fair, his hair is a fucking mess. Steve is deeply proud of how goofy it looks, sticking straight up, the curls even curlier than they were, except for the places where Steve has pulled them kind of straight.

"I look like an idiot," Bucky says.

Steve says, "No, you don't," even though he kind of does, and adds, "it'd take a lot more than messed-up hair to make you look bad," which is simply facts.

Bucky meets his eyes in the mirror and smiles, so Steve comes up behind him and presses a kiss into the corner of his jaw. 

Bucky firmly presses his baseball cap over his hair, squishing it down. Steve loops his arms around Bucky's waist and pulls him closer so he can whisper in his ear. "You know I'm just going to fuck it up again later."

Bucky doesn't look away from his gaze in the mirror. The corners of his mouth tilt up. "I'm counting on it."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic exists because @spacerenegades and i looked at this picture, then thought about curls, and @softestbuck mentioned that Sebastian Stan wears hats to the gym because he doesn't like the way his hair looks when it gets sweaty. Then this happened. The title is 100% @spacerenegades' genius. I hope you like it, snuzz! May it earn me one uncancellation.
> 
>   
> 


End file.
